


You're Not My Father

by 1800areyouslapping



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Overstimulation, Pseudo-Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Wetting, stepdad!jack, yandere!76
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 08:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16082297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1800areyouslapping/pseuds/1800areyouslapping
Summary: Your mom goes away and your stepdad Jack takes opportunities sees an opportunity for a little daddy/daughter bonding.





	You're Not My Father

You lingered in the doorway of your mom’s room while she skittered about. She neatly folded and placed item after item into her suitcase. Shoes, makeup bags, and toiletries. You, meanwhile, were pouting. She had refused to drag you along with her on her business trip. This one was too important, she’d be too busy to entertain you. Even though you had stated that you’d be plenty entertained with internet and a soft hotel room bed to lounge on. Still, the answer was no.

“Don’t you have work?” she had argued. “A paper to work on? A study group? College to attend?” 

Work was part-time, they wouldn’t miss you. You could work on homework just about anywhere. She was so out of touch she didn’t realize spring break had rolled around. College was out for the week.

“Don’t leave me with this creep,” you said. Before your sentence was finished your mother was already sighing, and the aforementioned creep was passing by at the bottom of the stairs on his way to the garage. He looked up the stairs. He stared at your bare legs and the plump cheeks that hung out of the bottom of your shorts. You shuddered, tugged your shorts down.

Stubbornly you didn’t care if he heard you or not. Jack was well aware you weren’t his biggest fan. Your mother was so blind to the way he ogled you. All of his gross invasions of your privacy. How he tried so hard to keep you on a short leash. She wrote it all off as normal unwillingness to accept him as your step-dad; rebelling against accepting a new man into your life. She even had the audacity to accuse you of being jealous once, resulting in a screaming match even your neighbors could hear, that wasn’t the case at all.  

“Try and bond with him while I’m gone, please?” she asked. “Let him take you to a movie, buy you some dinner. You love free food.” 

“No, thanks I’d rather starve.” Truthfully you’d be hunting down the one friend who hadn’t taken off for spring break and would stay at their house while she was gone. It sucked to not feel welcome in your own home without her in it and sucked even more, that if you voice feeling unsafe at the prospect of being alone with Jack she’d call you a drama queen.

You argued with her ‘til she was done packing, and argued some more ‘til she was out the door. Stood, fuming by her car while Jack helped put her bags in the trunk. Her rose-tinted glasses shined brightly as she looked at him with a smile and gave him a farewell kiss. You could see the praise behind her eyes: w _ar veteran! Strong, handsome man! A decorated hero, unreal; I’m so lucky._

“The both of you better still be in one piece when I get back,” she said, looked from Jack and then to you with a scrutinizing expression.

You crossed your arms over your chest and rolled your eyes. Jack smirked at it and you glared. Still filled with an attitude, body tense with it from head to toe you wished her a safe trip. Emphasized that you’d like her to come back home as soon as possible. Then turned on your heel and left. Locked yourself in your room and sent a group message to your friends asking who’d like to let you bum for a week or two at their place.  

Too anxious to sit around and wait for responses you took a shower, leaving your phone and laptop on the bed to charge. When you came back out not too long after one thing after the other sent jarring panic through your belly. First, the door was wide open, but not just wide open, it was gone. Second, both your phone and laptop were nowhere to be seen.  

“What the fuck,” you whispered to yourself. You ran to your drawers and quickly grabbed clothes, skittered back into the bathroom. You cowered into the corner in a panic regretting that you hadn’t been more proactive about finding a place to stay. You should have already been gone. Long gone. 

You dressed, did something minimal with your hair, threw on shoes and came across the thing that would keep you from being able to barrel out of the house. Your backpack was gone. The thing that had your wallet, and the only means of travel you had. You cursed again, louder that time. Anger made you feel much braver than you really were.

You marched down the stairs  _calling_  for Jack. “Jack?! Jack?! Where the hell is all my shit?” You jogged into the living room searching, and then the garage, the kitchen. “Jack?! Hello?!”

“Down here.” You heard him say from the open door leading to the basement.

Full of hot steam you run down the stairs. The basement wasn’t one of those creepy, dust-filled, termite-ridden places, but a renovated recreation room. An old-fashioned pool table (not one of the virtual ones that are all the rage), an entertainment area with a nice halo TV and the latest gaming systems, a full bar in the corner. A modern, clean design. Your mother’s pride and joy, she spent weeks redecorating this place.  

“Hey, sweetie.” Jack stood behind the bar nonchalantly cracking open beers. He held one out to you and you scowled at it. He shrugged his shoulders. “Just between us, I won’t tell your mom, if you don’t.”

You stomped up to the bar, grabbed the bottle and slammed it down on the counter. You demanded to know, “Where is my stuff?”  

He leaned against the bar. His pupils dilated rapidly. Your tummy turned, the ice blue in his eyes was far too intense. “Taking your stuff was the most effective way I figured would get you to listen,” he pointed to a stool, “so, be a good girl would you? Sit your ass down and open your ears, not your mouth.”

Your face was hot with anger, but you kept your mouth shut and did as asked. The faster the lecture was over with the better. You’d tell him, to the best of your ability what he wanted to hear, and get the fuck out of there. You reached out and gripped the neck of the beer bottle tight and brought it to your lips, threw it back chugged and glared at him, waiting for him to get on with it.

He easily reached across the bar. Long arms and a medium plain to cross had him cupping your face. So jarring, the contact was, all you did was stare and grip your bottle tighter. He cocked his head to the side. An expression on his face you could only place as a mix of… pity? Longing? A little regret?

“I love you, kid. I really do,” he shook his head, “I like gusto in my girls it’s just, I can only let so much of the bad attitude slide.”  

“Not your girl,” you choked out. He was stroking your cheek, petting your hair. You couldn’t stop shivering.  

His eyes dropped, half-lidded, down and down ‘til he was staring unabashedly at your heaving chest. His hand dropped too. He ghosted his fingertips along the slope of your neck and palmed the space between your breasts before he gripped one of them so suddenly you jumped back out of your seat.  

“I think you could use a good humbling before we hit the road,” he said. “It’ll be good for you; for me; for us.” 

You gripped the neck of the beer bottle like a weapon as he came out from behind the bar. “You’re a fucking perverted old man,” you said. He always had been. In the year you’d known him he never failed to get too close. To ask too many questions. To cross lines. “You aren’t supposed to touch me like that.” You stepped back as Jack crept forward.

You yelped and jumped as your back met the edge of the pool table. On high alert everything seemed like a threat to you, so you looked back at it to make sure it wasn’t going to attack you. Big mistake, the momentary distraction gave Jack more than enough time to close the distance. He grabbed ahold of your wrist and squeezed. Squeezed and squeezed ‘til you felt the bone and tendons separate and a sharp pain traveled up your arm causing you to drop the bottle.  

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your ear. He whispered, “When your a man who loves a girl the way I love you, you are.”

At first, you thought that fear had sapped the energy from your body and turned your legs to jello. But then as he forced a kiss on you, strong hold on your neck, his tongue prodding at your tightly closed lips, you came to the realization that the beer you had drunk was bitter. Too bitter, even for beer.

You sobbed, realizing that you were slowly drifting off into the mercy of his arms, of his care, and his company.

When you woke up you were groggy and forgetful. Back on the bar stool except it was a different seat. Your wrists bound by silver duct tape to the sleek black faucet in front of you. Ankles bound in the same manner to the legs of the stool. You became aware of your nakedness and all of the memories flooded back.

You sobbed. You fought. Crying and yelling from behind your gag. You tugged and tugged at the faucet but it was anchored too well. Tried to kick and pull at the binding around your legs but there was far too much tape. It felt as if your skin was going to rip apart if you pulled too strongly.

Two big arms wrapped around your waist and the accompanying hands rested on the inside of your thighs. “Good afternoon, sleepyhead.” Jack kissed your shoulder, kissed up into the slope of your neck. Every lick of his wet tongue, every nip of his cruel teeth sent body shaking shivers throughout you.

His hands fluttered on the softest part of your thighs. They crept upwards ‘til they were fluttering over your folds. He tugged you back so that your ass was hanging over the edge of the stool. His deft, calloused fingers played with your lips, grazed over your clit. He kept one hand between your legs, and brought the other one down and under your butt.

He pressed a fingertip against your entrance. You bucked and wiggled. Shook your head begging him not to do that to you. “Your mother tells me you told her you’re still a virgin.” His finger left but quickly returned, slick with his saliva. “I know better, little girl.”

He pressed his finger inside of you and rubbed your clit in slow and steady circles that matched his slow and steady thrusts of his finger. It’s true that you had lied about your virginity. But the way Jack had mentioned it made it seem as if you were whoring around all day while away at college.

You wanted so badly to hate every single moment of what he was doing to you, but Jack was being mindful and skilled with his fingers. Your body responded in kind to the good nature of his hands. You slicked up and you could  _hear_  it as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. You cried ‘til the edges of your gag was soaked and he had three fingers buried in your tight cunt. You may have not been a virgin, but a fling or two hadn’t made you seasoned in the least.

It was far too much from the moment you stepped down into this basement. The thick tension that had built up over the past year and a half should have been warning enough. Of course, now that you’re being fingered while in tears and on the edge of an orgasm it’s obvious that you should have bolted. Ran off and made due without anything. Lived like an animal in the woods for a week.

Your thighs shook, calves seized to the point of painful. You gripped the neck of the sink ‘til you got through your orgasm, and kept holding on because Jack wouldn’t let up. “That’s my girl,” Jack growled in your ear. “Keep on cumming for your daddy.”

For a very brief moment, Jack left your pussy bare and empty. The relief wasn’t done washing over you before you were tense all over again. The old bastard pressed the head of his cock against your hole and pushed the tip inside. He was thick and it burned. It stretched you open far more than his fingers had, bringing all new sensations into your body. All new reasons to sob and beg.

He kept one hand rubbing your clit into oblivion. His free hand gave each of your tits their very own, individual attention. Jack gripped and tugged on your nipples. Hissed through his teeth every time he thrust another inch of his cock inside your pussy. The hight of the stool, the angle of your ass, combined with jack’s height was perfectly suited for him to easily bottom out. You may have soaking wet. Piping hot all over. The burn was long gone. But Jack was balls deep and it still hurt when his head pressed, instant against your cervix.  

At first, he went slow. Dragged his length out and pushed it all the way back in again. Your body slumped, already tired from stress. With just one finger toying with your heightened nub it didn’t feel impossible to try and conserve a little energy.  

“Sweetie, I knew you could be soft,” Jack cooed. He massaged your breast, and gripped tightly, “sweet,” he licked your shoulder, “and warm,” he slammed inside of you. You yelped and your body seized up all over again. He thrust up into you at a steady pace. It wasn’t all he could give and you’d find that out soon enough.

Only after he had made you cum again, and again, and again, Jack stopped fondling your breasts and abusing your you clit. Every time he forced you to cum you clenched harder. Every new orgasm felt as if it was taking away more of your bodily control. Too mortified just at the thought of possibility pissing yourself to care about the growls of satisfaction Jack gave off each time you hugged his cock so tightly.  

He gripped both of your shoulders. Used them like handles to ground you to the chair and buck into. Sharp, quick, unending thrusts had you panting against your gag. Drool trickled from underneath the fabric and down your chin. Jack kept going and going. Another orgasm built up. It broke your will to keep your own body under control. Your legs shook and fresh tears streamed down your face as you pissed yourself. A drove of hot liquid flowed from you, coated the chair, and dripped onto the hardwood floor.

You thought maybe your humiliation might be your salvation. You thought the pervert might lose his hard-on and be too disgusted to keep going at you. But you were so wrong.

Wet slaps were wetter and faster. His bruising grip tighter. “Damn kid, is it that good?” He didn’t even sound out of breath. Didn’t skip a single beat.  

You begged him to finish. You felt disgusting. Your legs were wet, both your insides and outsides felt bruised. Suddenly the gag was roughly untied and ripped from your mouth. You gasped for air, didn’t scream for help. Too wrapped up to remember that was an option.  

“Say that again,” he demanded. 

“Fucking finish,” you spat.

He huffed. “Ask nicely,  _brat_.”

“Fuck you, old man.” Harsh words that sounded mousy, pathetic through sobs, whimpers, and sniffles.  

His stamina and control were torturous and incredible. Proving that he truly was a super soldier and bringing, briefly, to mind all the times your mom tried to low key brag about her bedroom rendezvous, only for you to vehemently beg her to shut up about it. You came once again. Weaker than all the others but your body still released the rest of your bladder. Small spurts. Nowhere near the waterfall that first coated your seat, and barely noticeable to him but very noticeable to you.

“Call me… call me daddy… and I’ll cum in you,” Jack said through breath that finally sounded labored and strained. “That’s what you want, sweetie?” he asked. “Want daddy to cum in you?”

No. You wanted him to leave you alone. Let you go so you could clean away all your shame. “Yes,” you nodded your head, “yes… daddy.”

“Yes, daddy, what?” he demanded to know.    

“Cum in me,” you whimpered. 

He groaned, his rhythm became erratic. He fucked into you until his fast thrusts petered out into lazy strokes. “Ah… good girl,” he said. He pet your damp hair and held your head back against his shoulder. Fingers curled under your chin forcing you to look at him. “That’s the right attitude, hun.”

Jack casually detached you from the chair, the sink. But he did not set you free. With fresh duct tape around your wrists and ankles he laid you down on the pool table while he redressed, cleaned your mess, and informed you about his plans for yours and his future. You listened and learned with newfound horror about a lake house he has boughten with his retirement money. The road trip and you were going to love living by a lake.


End file.
